


graced with a smile

by rueparables



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26695981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rueparables/pseuds/rueparables
Summary: Apparently, all of Garreg Mach knows of an expression Byleth has never shown Seteth before.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 103





	graced with a smile

It was the sound of her name that brought Seteth from his usual distracted state in the middle of brunch and lifted his head slightly in interest.

In that telltale whisper of gossips, a Garreg Mach student leaned in conspiratorially towards another, “… she _smiled_.”

And just like that, he was thrown into a flurry of questions surrounding that one word, a word he would not have dreamed of ever being associated with the stone-faced professor. Realising his spoon was left suspended in the air, he closed his slack mouth and continued to eat his meal as though nothing in particular had happened, as though his mind was not now in complete disbelief in this newfound knowledge. Against his better judgment, he strained his ears to glean some more.

“No way! Trick of the eye.”

“I _swear_ I glimpsed it. You know, during that celebratory feast after the Battle of the Eagle and Lion? I didn’t know she was even capable of such an expression…”

That made two of them. Or all of Garreg Mach. Professor Byleth had been that of stone, from the very beginning she’d stepped into the monastery. Yet change had been evident in her as she bonded with her students. She seemed to soften, and her initial reputation as the Ashen Demon gave way to a professor who led battles that brought home triumph for the church, who took time to offer help to anyone she’d come across, and who had the unwavering trust of her allies.

She was a force to be reckoned with, a being so unrelentingly indomitable foes would cower under her–and she was lovely, someone he had grown to harbor a great fondness for. And it was precisely that that troubled him; he had thought himself close to the professor, knowing of things about her some might seldom know. Perhaps he had unknowingly allowed himself such notions.

“Seteth?” An inquiring hand rested on his arm, and he startled from his stupor. Manuela stared back at him, her eyes searching for signs of illness. “You suddenly stopped eating. Is everything alright?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” He coughed, standing up as he retrieved his half-eaten plate and glass. “I suppose I’m still full from my… last meal. Excuse me.”

He proceeded to find out more about this. He concocted a survey of sorts, asking after students’ opinions on each professor, effectively hiding his true goal. Each time someone provided a detailing of _that one time they saw Professor Byleth actually smile,_ that it seemed everyone in Garreg Mach had seen it save him.

It was Sylvain’s account of this that particularly aggravated him. He waxed poetic of her smile: _bewitching, like the Goddess had descended before me, sweeter than any rose…_

He had to interject before it dragged on for longer.

He chose to ignore the gleam in Sylvain’s eye.

Before long he had to abandon this (false) survey to make preparations for his meeting with the very person he was fretting over. He had half a mind to cancel this tea party, for fear she might have caught on to what in heavens he was doing and why he was so dejected about apparently being the only person who has never seen a smile from her. Or in guilt, for betraying his standards and letting curiosity get the better of himself, encouraging gossips and what else.

With a heavy sigh, he approached their meeting place in the gardens, towards where Professor Byleth waited. She raised her head at the sound of his footsteps, and nodded in greeting. “Hello, Seteth.”

He managed a smile. “Professor.”

They spent the time with small talk, and enquiring after classes and which student seemed to have promise in which subject. He swallowed a question before it escaped his lips: _Do you not enjoy being with me like I do, immensely?_

She placed down her cup. “So, a survey? I’m not sure I’ve been informed of it.”

He nearly jumped. He placed his, calmly. “You took notice?”

Professor Byleth’s hand faltered in its reach for the cake. She cleared her throat. “It was hard not to notice you, with how much my students had been telling me of how intimidated they were when they saw you approach. Like a lion towards its meal, they said.”

If it were any other, they would have missed the playful tone. Seteth exhaled through his nose in a semblance of a laugh. At least in that, he could be certain he knew best. “Am I truly that intimidating? I do try not to be.”

She touched a finger to her lips, thinking. It was difficult not to stare. “Maybe you should smile more.”

His eyes snapped up to hers. Seeing only a playful twinkle in her eye, with no hidden meaning in her words, made him relax. “I’ll consider it. So, any troubles?”

If she noticed the sudden change in subject, she made no indication. She munched on her cake before she said, “I feel my training is lacking. A sparring partner would be nice, although my students wouldn’t exactly be a fair match. I was wondering if you knew anyone?”

He hummed. “Would I be sufficient? I consider myself well-trained in the arts of the lance and the axe. In magic and the sword, I can’t say the same for, but I’m sure you are plenty proficient in that area.” She stared at him. “What?”

“Oh, I…” She glanced down at her cake, pausing, and then ate the last bite. She murmured, “I thought you’d balk at the thought of spending any more time with me.” This stunned him. How did she come up with that notion? But thinking back, he supposed it wouldn’t be so far-fetched, considering how ill he had taken to her from the start. “I look forward to it. Beating you, I mean.”

He snorted, and he fancied he saw her expression soften. “We’ll see.” He took a sip of his tea. It wouldn’t be so bad, though, being beaten. He’d been having dreams of late, of her sword pointing to his throat as he dropped to the ground, and her eyes looking down on him…

“Seteth?” His leg thudded up the table. He cleared his throat loudly, and said in a squeak of a voice that made him grimace, “Yes?”

“You seem lost in thought.”

He searched frantically around, thinking of anything besides what he was just thinking. He landed on a flower, its petals reminiscent of the professor’s shade of raven blue. He reached for it and held it out to her, almost suddenly. “I was just thinking about how much this suited you.”

Professor Byleth blinked, and took it. Sparing no more moments of awkwardness, he jumped from his seat. “Well, this was nice. I must go now,” he said stiffly.

He was paces away when he figured that wasn’t a very pleasant way of ending their meeting, and turned to tell the professor something. What words he wanted to utter was lost immediately.

Against the petals of the flower, what graced her lips was…

… Loathe he was to admit it, he supposed Sylvain was right.


End file.
